


Disconnected

by salikath



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Porn, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt Tony Stark, M/M, One Shot, Porn With Plot, Post-Breakup Sex, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Rough Sex, Size Kink, They hurt each other, Tony Stark Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:27:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24763084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salikath/pseuds/salikath
Summary: Tony almost wished he could be back at that boring-ass meeting, anything was better than this; especially when the sight of Steve Rogers only made him want to burst into tears.He was sure Steve felt the same, and that was even worse.In which Steve messaged Tony on the burner phone, asking to meet up.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 5
Kudos: 133





	Disconnected

The house was unassuming. Quintessential white suburban mom exterior— a brick porch, a barely off-white vinyl, good curb appeal. It was the type of house where you wouldn't be pressed to see children playing in the front yard, laughing as they ran through sprinklers, their parents, most likely named Bob and Sheryl, watching on fondly. Maybe a sign in the corner of the lawn that would say to vote for the Republican governor. Or something like that.

That was Tony's first impression. Or well, that was a lie. His first impression was simply a feeling of wariness, of his hackles raising and body tensing— because he still remembered _why_ he was here. He remembers the vibrations in his coat pocket quite vividly, signalling that Rogers, _Steve,_ had decided to reach out.

Thankfully, it was in the middle of a dull as fuck meeting, so it was genuinely a life saver. Looks like death by brain bleed would have to wait another day.

However, aside from a vague sense of gratefulness, it was filled with dread— because it was Steve. Steve had texted him, or called, or whatever. Left a message, tried to contact him. Effectively the same. Or maybe it wasn't Steve, and someone had gotten a hold of the sorry excuse for a phone.

Either way, it wasn't good. Especially since the only message was to meet at this location— at an eerily pristine house straight out of a sitcom.

Tony's breath hitched, and he thumbed at his watch, letting the feel of the cool metal slow his racing heart rate, because no matter what happens; he has a defense. Against what ever may be on the other side of that maroon red door. Even if it wasn't the complete suit, just a gauntlet, the activation would call the nearest suit over to his location.

So yeah. He felt somewhat safe, but somewhat wasn't absolute and it didn't mean that he didn't feel apprehensive as hell.

_What could Steve want?_

He steeled himself, and walked up to the door, the taps of expensive dress shoes against the concrete barely audible over the pounding of his own heart. Then, he knocked. And waited. 

And not even a second later, the door opened. Tony startled, face to face with Captain America, the golden boy himself, Steve Rogers. 

He looked… like hell. His blonde hair was skewed in every direction, his skin a shade paler than it usually is, and his eyes… he could give a raccoon a run for its money, that's for sure. But the worst part about it was the fragility evident in his gaze. 

Tony's heart throbbed at the sight, before a large, yet gentle hand gripped his shoulder and tugged him inside. The door closed with a click, and the silence turned awkward. They were just… staring, eyes roving over each other's features— guarded, but desperate to see for themselves that the other was alright. They were barely an inch from each other, the tight fit of the hallway leaving no room for personal space. Steve's hand twitched like he wanted to feel Tony for injuries. 

There was a moment of silence, but then Rogers broke it with a ragged breath. Steve's face crumpled, and Tony gritted his teeth, hating the way that the expression tugged on his heart strings. Like a fucking kicked puppy. Tony could never say no to that look, and that was the problem.

Tony pulled away, entering a living room that vaguely looked like a grandma threw up on it. An inhale, exhale, and somehow his voice was still shaky, "What do you want, Rogers?"

"I wanted to see if you were okay," he said, deceptively evenly.

He threw his hands up in the air, exasperated. God, Steve fucking Rogers. Somehow, he had been expecting that.

Out of everything, this was why he messaged him, oh so mysteriously, to meet him in the buttfuck nowhere. To see if he was okay. Not… asking for intel on Barnes, Ross, or help in general.

Asking if he was okay. It would've warmed his heart if it wasn't so painful.

He punched the bridge of his nose, "Well, you've seen me. I'm doing just _peachy._ "

His tone was venomous, but Steve didn't seem to rise to it, only thinning his lips, his baby blue eyes piercing Tony's very soul, "I saw what happened on the news. They say it was a miracle you didn't die."

Tony's eyes widened slightly in comprehension, oh. That's what this was about. Yeah, that wasn't fun— your arc reactor shutting off in the middle of the air. Luckily, he figured out whatever electromagnetic pulse that week's villain used, and it shouldn't be a problem any more.

" _That's_ why you texted me?" A glare. Tony rolled his eyes, "Well, uh— not even a scratch. I'm okay, I promise."

Another searching look, and Steve's shoulders loosened. It was like a whole weight had been lifted off of him.

"Good," he said.

It was quiet again, and Tony felt unease trickle up his spine.

"Oookay," he said slowly, "I'm gonna get going now…"

Steve didn't say anything, and it made Tony irrationally angry. Why was he letting Tony go, just like that? Especially after what happened, didn't he want to extract some sort of vow that he won't blab to Ross? Or worse, arrest him himself and bring him into the raft, never seen again?

Tony waited by the door, hand on the doorknob. His fingers clenched, "That's it? You're letting me go?"

Silence.

"How do you know I'm not going to tell Ross that I know where you are?"

A groan, "For fucks sake, Tony—"

" _Language."_ Tony couldn't help but interject. This time, the glare was full of anger, rather than exasperation.

"Contrary to what you think, I don't assume the worst of you. I _never_ thought you'd sell me out—"

"Liar," Tony breathed, fascinated, "You never thought I could do anything right. That's the thing Rogers, you pretend to be inclusive, trusting, and maybe you are, but not to me. Never to me. You never once trusted me, not when it came to the Accords—"

"Oh fuck you," Steve spat, and woah, he was right up close and personal, caging Tony against the door, "The Accords are just to control us and you know it. It was never about _regulation,_ it was about turning us into their little puppets to use as they pleased. It's not _about_ you, Tony."

"You didn't trust me with Barnes either," Tony bit out, and Steve's face blanked, something akin to self-hatred flashing in his eyes.

Steve had nothing to say to that.

"You left me there. The video continued playing, you know that? I was stuck in that deactivated suit of mine, courtesy of you, and I had to listen to that. For hours, barely able to breathe because you fucking caved my chest in."

"You lied to me about how your best buddy murdered my parents. You're a fucking hypocrite, Steve 'sometimes my friends don't tell me things' Rogers. You left me there because you didn't trust me." Tony felt a chill settle in his blood, in his bones, and it was like he was back there— in that godforsaken Siberian bunker, raggedly breathing while having to listen to the roar of the wind, the screams of his mother, "So yes. I don't doubt that you have an ulterior motive, because there's no way in hell you care if I'm injured or not." 

Steve's eyes were wide with horror, pallor white like paper. 

"That's not true," he choked out, "It's not—"

"It's not?" Tony whispered furiously, "It's not?!" He let out a hysterical laugh, eyes burning. He couldn't pretend to be unaffected anymore, "What's not true? That you left me in Siberia? Alone? Or that you're a hypocrite? Or that you don't care? At all?"

Steve shook his head, and Tony couldn't tell if the soldier was trembling or it was simply the film of tears over his own eyes, "No— please. I'm so, so sorry. I was just, I was just so scared, for Bucky— I didn't mean to hurt you. I wanted to tell you, but _God,_ I was a coward. I was afraid you'd hate me, or worse try and… find Bucky."

His voice was small, "Please believe me. I never wanted this."

Tony suddenly felt tired, slumping against the door-frame, "That's just it, Steve. You didn't trust me."

Steve's brows furrowed in anguish, and he opened his mouth, but Tony interrupted him, "It's fine." His breath hitched, "I don't know what I would've done in your position, maybe I would've done the same. But… we're over. We can't pretend that this didn't happen. Just— leave me alone, please."

"But I love you."

Ah, there it was. The dreaded 'L' word. Tony's lips twisted into a grimace. He thought they were beyond that at this point, their relationship had long since sailed. Tony was almost surprised to hear it, he would've been if it wasn't 100%, quintessentially Steve. It still dumbfounded him though. 

Tony knows that Steve loves him, God so much. And Tony loves him too— that won't ever change. But… the love was too _splintered._ They weren't connected anymore, and anytime they tried to do so they wouldn't fit— too broken, and too misshapen to ever connect just as strongly as it had before. 

He just never thought he'd hear Steve voice out their now broken love ever again. 

Tony blinked, and he watched as a tear trailed down Steve's cheek, "I love you," he said vehemently. He brought a tentative hand up, and he cupped Tony's cheek, "I hurt you so goddamn badly, and I want to fix it."

He leaned in, and Tony's eyes widened, lips parting ever so slightly. His fingers slipped down from the metal door handle, dangling limply on his side.

"I don't know if I'm fixable, Steve," Tony confessed, voice gravelly. Steve shook his head.

"I refuse to believe that."

There was a beat of silence, as the air grew increasingly charged. Tony couldn't tell exactly what it was, but it was new. Different. Tinged with the ache and the betrayal, but that wasn't the entirety. It was more… pure, less tainted with darkness and more with a hope of the future.

Steve leaned in further, towering over Tony with his height and bulk but for some reason, the inventor didn't feel overwhelmed. At least, in a way he didn't want. Steve's other hand fidgeted, before resting lightly on Tony's hip. His thumb caressed his cheekbone.

He licked his lips, "Can I?" he asked, voice hushed.

Tony gulped, and apparently that was answer enough, because Steve's eyes went half-lidded, and he crossed the final inch or two of distance between them.

Their lips met, and it was heaven and hell at the same time. Tony could only let out a soft groan, and give into the kiss, giving into _Steve._

It was wet, was the first thing Tony's molasses-slow mind came up with. Slow, but deep, an exploration and a desperation to taste and to cherish. It was quite salty, too, tears making its way between their lips and the saliva. Steve gave a low sob, and his hand clenched tighter on Tony's hip, only to lift him up, and press him flush against the door. The hand on his cheek left to hold him up by his buttocks— Tony had no choice but to wrap his legs around his waist. Steve pressed closer, pinning the genius against the wood with his strength.

The kiss had an entirely different quality to it now, just as passionate but now full of a visceral need. It was rougher, their teeth clacking against the other, and there was the coppery tang of blood now. Tony couldn't tell who's lips they were from at this point, they felt too interconnected.

"Fuck," Tony gasped. He shuddered, pulled away from the kiss, hand reaching up to grip at Steve's hair, the other clenching in the soldier's shirt. Steve made a displeased noise at the interruption, merely moved his kiss from his lips to neck, sucking and biting there as well, almost as if he's proving that Tony's there, that he's in his arms— and marking him for all to see.

Tony gave a soft moan, and the tears started forming again. He was just too overwhelmed, too suffused with sensation, with emotion. But he didn't have the heart to say no, of course not— not to Steve. And besides, it felt too good, a welcome change from the numbing monotony of day to day life. It was like he could see in color again.

It was terrifying.

That meant Steve could take the colors away, leave him panting and breathless and _bereft,_ aching with the need to be loved, to be cared for. It would hurt all the more because this taste, this sample of affection, no matter how brutal would stand to tease him of the unattainable.

"Fuck me," he said breathlessly, trying his best to push into the touches on his ass, but he had no leverage, "Come on, fuck me Rogers."

Steve stiffened, and in the totally unsexy way. He then pulled back, and Tony immediately felt the air begin to dry the now aching and wet marks on his throat and collarbone. Despite the close proximity, Tony felt cold.

"It's Steve," he muttered, and Tony could only manage a strangled hum, "It's Steve." His tone made the importance of the statement obvious. But Tony didn't hear it.

"I don't give a damn. Fuck me." He needed to feel more than this pervasive numbness.

A pause, and more hesitantly than before, Steve leaned in, only to scoop his ass with a single strong arm, his now free hand reaching to pull at Tony's shirt. Tony obligingly lifted his arms up, and it was left forgotten on the floor.

"Is this what you want?" Steve asked, a hint of need in his tone, a need for an affirmative answer. He didn't wait for it though, and he leaned down to suck at Tony's collarbone, at the bruises there, at the ones that are obviously a day or so old, "Not a scratch, huh?" he murmured, voice reproachful. A finger traced the marks, before they went back down to Tony's ass, caressing and squeezing him through the jeans.

"They aren't scratches," Tony gasped, "Didn't lie." His nails dug into the soldier's back. 

Steve didn't deign to respond, and only huffed in amusement. His lips trailed hot, wet trails down to his nipple, sucking the nub in, laving his tongue over the hardening peak.

"O-oh!" The warmth in his groin turned a distinctly overwhelming note. He grunted, beginning to rub off against his perfect abs, squirming in his hold. He could already feel himself leak through his boxers. God, it's been too long. Another bolt of heat shot through him as Steve looked up at him through his lashes, his perfect mouth brushing against his chest. He looked completely innocent, yet debauched— hair a complete mess, eyes blown, a flush on his skin.

"Fuck, look at you," he whispered, "Fucking gorgeous." Steve moaned around the nipple, his fingers tightening on his ass at the praise, before he bit down. Tony will forever deny that he had squeaked. 

"Sorry, sorry," he muttered, not sorry at all. Tony laughed, turning into a long moan halfway through. Steve's knee lifted, pressing a strong and sturdy thigh against Tony's clothed groin. The pressure and friction was _glorious,_ and Tony keened.

The constriction was getting to be too much, too much too quick. He _ached_ inside the unforgiving jeans, throbbing for more and he needed them off, like, yesterday. He shifted in Steve’s hold, his hands grappling up to pull his delectable mouth away. He tugged on his hair a bit and Steve raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Pants,” he panted, “Off.” Tony gyrated some more, feeling ridiculously wanton and desperate, and Steve understood. He squeezed his ass before his fingers caught on the waistline. He began pulling them down, letting Tony stand for a moment to fully pull them off along with his boxers; then finally leaving them forgotten on the floor. Tony didn’t have time to mourn for the expensive jeans dirtying on the dusty hardwood when Steve captured his lips again. Tony groaned. A jolt of arousal shot through him when he realized that Steve was still fully clothed, while he remained buckass nude.

Steve was _surrounding_ him, his large, strong body enveloping him and Tony felt small. Their chests were flush against the other, but Tony's was noticeably smaller, less wide than Steve's. Tony had to tilt his head up in order to kiss him, still shorter even with the boost of being lifted up— and then _oh._ Tony could only tighten his legs around Steve's waist as the soldier began to rut against his erection. Steve pulled back, only barely, their lips brushing with every exhalation.

"Oh hell yeah," he breathed, "Fuck, you feel so good." He grunted, a bead of precum forming as the rough fabric of Steve's khakis (God, he was such an old man) dragged against Tony's sensitive cock. 

"Yeah?" Steve panted, and Tony licked his lips, whimpered, watching as a bead of sweat dripped down Steve's neck. He wanted to lick it up, taste his neck and bite his own marks into the porcelain skin.

But he couldn't, he was stuck in place against the door, and that made the heat in his abdomen only intensify.

"Yeah," Tony whispered back, "Take this off," he demanded, gripping at Steve's shirt, "Right fucking now. I need to see you."

Steve's eyes fluttered shut, a curse escaping his lips, before he obliged, his muscles flexing as he tugged off his shirt. Tony licked his lips, and began to trace his pics and abs, reverently.

"Hot damn," he said, awed. Steve looked down at Tony with an uncomfortably soft expression. The atmosphere died a little. 

Tony hated it.

"Just get to it."

"Tony…"

"I don't want to talk about this," Tony said, voice blank, "Let's just… forget for a while."

Steve just looked at Tony, sad and unimpressed. But there was nothing to say, nothing to do. He could either continue, or leave. It was that simple. There was nothing affectionate about this, not anymore— if you're not counting the tainted love that brought them here in the first place. It wasn't enough, especially compared to the distant memory of the warmth, the happiness, and the way they fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

The void inside Tony was oppressive and the only real substitute was this hollow affection, a caricature of itself.

Steve sighed, and before Tony could scowl two long fingers pressed against his lips, sliding down his mouth and into his throat. He gagged for a moment, before he moaned around the digits.

"Is this what you want, Stark?" Steve asked, dully, "This—" he struggled for a moment, searching for the right word, "This apathy?"

A trail of saliva began to drool out of Tony's mouth, and Tony felt the fingertips all the way in the back of his throat. Finally, they slid out, brushing against his swollen lips and spreading the spit there. 

"Yeah," Tony croaked, "I do." 

It wasn't even a lie. He couldn't handle anything more than that.

Steve's jaw tensed, and then the wet fingers slid down, and trailed down Tony's crack. A small gasp escaped the inventor when he began to trace his entrance, and then pressed a fingertip inside. Tony tensed, clenching down on the finger like he didn't know what to do with it, but he wasn't given a choice— Steve's finger continued sliding in, and Tony couldn't help but let out a broken moan.

Steve made quick work of his ass, another finger squeezing its way inside the constriction, spit making a barely sufficient lube. It burned a little. Tony liked it though, wanting it that way. It detracted from the intimate nature of the activity. "More," Tony got out, quaking in his hold, especially when he found his prostate and mercilessly took advantage of the spot inside of him. It was always sensitive, almost painfully so, " _Ah."_

Tony let out a disapproving whine as Steve pulled out his fingers, only to watch as he spat into his palm, and went back down to press a third finger. The burning sensation returned, and only intensified as he began to scissor inside of him, loosening his hole methodically.

Tony's face reddened at the obvious squelching noises. He buried his face in Steve's chest, panting hard, letting out the occasional moan. His nails scratched down his back as he grappled for any sort of grip. Merciless, Steve's fingers went right back to his prostate and his world was enveloped in flames, in pleasure.

"Oh fuck, I'm gonna—" 

Tony's hips bucked wildly once Steve's fingers stilled inside of him, and then pulled out, leaving him hanging there, right on the edge and clenching down on nothing.

"Son of a cock loving whore," he swore, breathless and frustrated, "What—"

Tony shut up once he saw Steve spit into his hand again, and then reach down, only this time not to his ass. The wet noises were obscene, echoing throughout the hallway as Steve stroked his own cock. But then, he stiffened, looking down at Tony with an indiscernible expression.

"Tony, we don't have lube."

Tony let out a scoff, and said, "I don't care."

"It'll hurt—"

"I don't care," Tony stressed, "Fuck me Rogers.” Steve's lips thinned.

“I don’t wanna hurt you, I’m not exactly small you know."  
  
Tony gave a lecherous grin, but there was a hardness in his eyes. Something that wanted to be hurt. He licked his lips, and pushed his ass back. He let out a soft moan as the tip of Steve's cock brushed up against one of his cheeks, leaving a smear of precum. He bit his lip at the soldier's strangled breath.

"Fuck. Me," Tony enunciated, "I want it inside of me— you know you want to. You've… _fuck."_ Steve spat in his hand again, and pressed his fingers inside. It wasn't enough, even the girth of three fingers not enough to satisfy the emptiness inside. Once Steve slid out, he could only clench needily on the copious amounts of saliva. He could hear the small splatters as Tony dripped, from his ass or cock— he didn't know, onto the floor, "You've done it before."

Steve licked his lips, his eyes blown, close to giving in, "You were really sore afterwards—"

" _Please,"_ Tony breathed, "I need it, please."

Steve's lips screwed up, and he let out a soft groan, head tilting back and Tony couldn't help but give his adam's apple a wet, messy kiss.

"Fuck, Tony," he murmured. His hand came up, tilting Tony's face away from his neck. It left a wet smear, and Tony's licked his lips, panting from it all. Then, he cupped his hand just beneath his kiss-bruised mouth, "Spit."

Tony whimpered. It felt strange, a dizziness overcoming him and melding with the need. He then started spitting out whatever saliva formed, and it dripped down his chin, making a mess of himself and _god—_ he felt so dirty. Steve was enraptured though, watching him like he was the only thing in the universe.

"Good," he whispered, before he slicked up his cock with the saliva. He then wiped the rest on Tony's rim. The genius quaked at the touch, his grip on Steve's shoulders bruising. 

Then finally, oh _finally,_ the head of Steve's cock pressed against Tony's entrance, and then, _oh fuck,_ slid inside, somehow thicker and _longer_ than he remembered, splitting him in two but Tony wanted it, he wanted it so bad. He wanted to be forced to take Steve's prick until he couldn't take it anymore, and then some.

" _Ohfuck,"_ Tony said tightly, clenching down tight, his body trying to fight against the intrusion, but to no avail. It just kept pushing and pushing. He breathed out shortly and forced his body to relax. Soon enough, the sharp burning sensation turned molten— a perfect contrast to the sensation of the new mark Steve was biting into his neck. The guttural groan the soldier muffled into his skin made Tony tremble.

Steve stayed shock still for a moment, licking the mark he bit almost as an apology. It was almost as if he could tell just the moment Tony fully adjusted, and he pulled out, the slick slide making Tony moan, bereft and empty.

A moment, two moments. Steve slammed back in, and Tony bounced up the door from the force. Another thrust, and then another, setting a measured, but rapid pace.

Tony's jaw _dropped._ Broken, desperate noises escaped him as Steve's perfect cock managed to hit every sensitive spot inside of him, _especially_ his prostate. The slaps of their bodies echoed through the hallway. Tony moaned, high-pitched and needy as Steve increased his pace. He didn't even feel the burning stretch anymore. He just felt nice and pleasantly _full,_ like Steve's cock belonged in him, opening him wide and making room in what felt like his _guts_ , fucking in and out like he _belonged there_ , like it was it's home. 

"Y-you feel so good inside me," he gasped, the heat in his abdomen and groin coiling. His ass felt loose, gaping, _plundered._ He wanted more. He was so close, so close, "Fill me up with your cum, mark me, c-claim me—"

He wanted it more than life himself. His mind was gone at this point, replaced with a primal thing that wanted to be fucked. 

Steve let out a predatory growl, and holy fuck that was the hottest thing Tony had ever heard. He shook, and oh god he was close, he was so close. He tightened around Steve, almost painfully, breath leaving him in a pained exhale as he curled in on himself.

" _Ah!"_

"Come for me," Steve demanded, his voice low and gravelly. Not even a moment later, _oh fuck,_ he wrapped his hand around Tony's cock. He didn't need any lube, the mess of precum leaking out of his dick more than enough.

"Come." Steve stroked his cock faster, and faster, until he felt like he was about to combust from pleasure, and then—

Everything turned white. Tony screamed out his release, convulsing in Steve's arms of thick ropes of cum shot out of his dick, making a mess of both their chests. Steve moaned quietly, before his thrusts turned even more erratic. One thrust, two thrusts, and then Steve had to lean against Tony to hold himself up, practically collapsing.

Tony moaned brokenly, his quivering entrance clenching around the cum that was being fucked into his ass. It burned a little, perhaps he's been fucked too hard, but it was just too good to care.

Aside from the soft pants, and the whir from the air conditioner, it was silent. Tony hummed, resting his forehead on his shoulder, mind blank aside from the scent and feel of Steve. This is where he wanted to be. No fighting, no betrayals.

Nothing but this warmth.

However, it couldn't last, especially when Steve shifted, and Tony winced as it jostled his sore rim. The cold returned. 

"Pull out," he murmured, voice heavy. Steve seemed to notice the tone, and his face shuttered.

A heavy breath escaped the genius, a fierce pain now radiating from his lower back. It intensified as soon as Steve carefully lowered him down, and he only had his shaky legs and the wall to keep standing. His pants subsided, his pounding heart rate slowing, and all that was left was… regret. His body ached, his heart ached, and by God he wanted to smack the concerned expression off Steve's face.

(He didn't deserve it, after all.)

Steve looked at him, eyes wide and mournful, "Tony—"

"No," he snarled, "Don't start with that tone. I don't want to hear it."

He slowly peeled himself away from the door, forcing his legs to cooperate. He pushed past Steve, ignoring the searing pain as he grabbed a rag from one of the baskets in the kitchen. He wiped away the mess from his face, chest, and ass before throwing it into the nearby trash can. Steve zipped up his pants. 

He plucked his boxers off the ground, sliding them on. Steve watched with a pained expression.

"So that's it?" he said, dully, "We talk for five minutes, fuck, and then you're leaving?"

Tony pretended to consider, "Hm— yeah."

A scoff, "You can't keep running from your problems, Tony."

Tony slid his arm through the arm-hole of his shirt, and glared, "Don't tempt me, Rogers."

Steve swallowed, rubbing his face. He sighed, "Text me if you need any help, with anything."

A sigh, "If it makes you feel any better, sure."

"... You won't, will you?"

"Nope."

Steve blinked away his tears. Tony turned his back, the aching of his lower back nothing compared to his heart.

"I miss you," Steve said, voice small. Tony gulped. The old you went unsaid.

"Me too," he said shortly. _But we've changed too much._

Tony laced on his last shoe, before he opened the door, paused, and walked out— the door closing with a pointed click, leaving Steve behind. It was the afternoon at that point, the cool air wafting against his still heated skin. 

Hopefully the droplet on his cheek was sweat rather than a tear. He doubted it.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeahhh... they have a lot to go through.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy my fic! It's my first Stony one, so hopefully I did the ship justice! And hopefully the smut was good haha, I haven't done it in a while. Constructive criticism is welcome! 
> 
> ~Kath (Me and Sali are two different authors, btw)


End file.
